


we are the soft city lights

by ohhotlamb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, absolutely sickening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, why don’t we have our own?” The suggestion is out before he can even really process it, but not for a second does he want to take it back.</p><p>Tooru’s head tilts to the side. “Our own?”</p><p>“Yeah. Our own party. Just you and me.”</p><p>(On the eve of a very big day, the two of them find comfort in each other's company.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are the soft city lights

It’s that sort of evening in the dead of summer after a particularly hot day.

Hajime can feel every living thing sag with relief; can practically hear the trees sighing with it. Those damn cicadas have _finally_ quieted down for the night, and they’ve been replaced with crickets, whose song is infinitely more peaceful. It’s still warm but the scorch from earlier is gone; he can feel the heat retained in the asphalt rising up to meet him. The street lamps are on and as he walks he watches his shadow, growing sharp and crisp as he passes under each, before blurring away again to blend in with the night.

Like promised, Tooru is in the park, sitting on the swing set. He’s rocking back and forth, heels dug into the sawdust. He’s looking up at the sky, where stars are just starting to peek through a dimming evening. There’s something off about his expression; the otherwise relaxed set of his face is tainted by a smidge of worry, just on the cusp of anxious. It’s decipherable through the slight tension in his shoulders, the way he’s not humming tunelessly as per usual, even though it’s quiet and he’s alone with this thoughts. On edge. Hajime can relate—his insides are squirming with nervous energy, and overall he feels vaguely nauseous. Not for the first time, he wonders if he’ll be able to get through the next twenty-four hours without throwing up all over his shoes.

“Hey.”

Tooru glances over, a shy sort of smile finally touching his lips and lightening up his expression. His eyes are so warm, so _relieved,_ that Hajime has to look away almost immediately. “Hey. You came.”

“I said I would.”

He sits in the twin seat beside Tooru, hands gripping onto the rusted metal chains. His squeaks when he moves, so he keeps still. Immediately, something that’s been missing the past week—indescribable comfort, and reassurance—washes over him. He wonders if Tooru feels it, too.

The man beside him continues his steady rock back and forth. “How was your camping trip?”

Hajime pauses to consider that for a moment, looking up at the darkening sky and pursing his lips. It’s all a blur, when he looks back at it. There was a lot of movement involved. There were quiet moments, sure— sitting in the forest, all of them gathered in a circle to watch the flames of the campfire in the middle. Waking up to the sun striking through the tent, leaving him in a puddle of his own sweat. Good food, good friends. But for the most part—“Too loud,” he finally decides. “They kept scaring the fish away, and half the time Lev was tryin’ to get me drink the moonshine his uncle made in Russia. I’m pretty sure it was straight rubbing alcohol.”

Tooru snorts out of his nose, and Hajiime—Hajime had _missed_ that sound. “Did you try any?”

“Hell no. I like my esophagus without holes, thanks.”

His small smile has spread, a glimmer of pretty white teeth. “Aw, that’s no fun,” he teases, sounding very much like he would have done the same thing. He kicks his legs out, leaning his body back, head still tilted heavenward. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, like Hajime is being particularly stupid. “I mean there had to have been more than just Lev and his moonshine! What else did you do? Who else was there?”

“Oikawa, you know literally all of them—“

“Humor me, Iwa-chan.” The smile is still there, but he’s mirrored Hajime and has moved his hands from his lap to hold onto the metal chains with a death grip. Nerves.

“Fine,” Hajime grunts, staring out at the playground and squinting, trying to remember all the faces. “Makki. Kyoutani. Bokuto. Suga. Lev. We fished and hiked and told those stupid ghost stories you love so much. One night we sang karaoke and Suga got wasted and ended up stripping on a tree stump.”

The surprised giggle has Hajime’s chest constrict like someone’s taken his sopping wet heart and attempted to wring it out. “That’s Kou-chan for you!” Tooru laughs. His eyes, crinkled and soft, catch the pale yellow light of the far street lamp. “But wow, it sure looks like you got to spend a lot of time in the sun! You’re very brown.” He reaches, briefly trailing his fingers down the length of Hajime’s forearm. The hair there rises promptly after, gooseflesh making him hold in a shiver. Tooru’s voice has gone low, like they’re the only two people in the world that matter. “I’m glad you had a nice time.”

Hajime rubs at his aching chest absently. “How was yours? Fun enough for you?”

He hums. “No illicitly produced alcohol, unfortunately. Took the bullet train all the way down to Shirihama, can you believe it! White sand beaches, hot springs…I think Kuroo turned into a merman, he was in the baths for at least an entire day. We spent a lot of time on the beach, too. Made sandcastles, swam in the sea…all that good stuff.” The picture is being painted in Hajime’s head, of salt water drying stiffly in brown hair, of skin warmed pliant through a long soak. “Oh, and Tobio paid for my train ticket and it was very, very weird.”

Hajime can’t stop the wry smile from twisting his mouth at the undercurrent of disgust there. “I don’t even know why you invite him places if you’re just gonna get creeped out whenever he’s nice to you."

Tooru sniffs. “It’s not like I’m _complaining._ He can spend his life savings on me for all I care.”

“Just admit it. You like him.”

“I would _never_.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” It may be squeaky and annoying, but he can’t remember the last time he was on a park swing, and a park so close to home, to boot. He pushes off, giving a few experimental pumps with his legs—he pulls himself, higher and higher, wind whistling in his ears. He has to speak up over the noise he’s making. “But anyways, sounds like you had a good time, too.”

He doesn't even notice it happening, but suddenly Tooru is right there, matching him exactly, moving in unison. Their legs kick out at the same time, the slow, steady pendulum of the swing in perfect sync. Hajime knows there’s a term for when that happens, a childish taunt for elementary school students, but he can’t really remember…

Tooru hums. “I did. It’s just that…” he trails off, shaking his head. “It was really, really fun, don’t get me wrong— but it was also a little overwhelming, you know? Like we were always doing something and there was a lot to remember. There was the train schedule and our luggage and check-out time. It was wonderful but the whole time it felt like something was missing.” He looks sideways at Hajime when he says that last part, the meaning of his words heavy.

Hajime digs his feet into the sawdust, halting his movement. The squeaking stops. Tooru follows suit, looking at him curiously, half of his face awash in glow.

“Well, why don’t we have our own?” The suggestion is out before he can even really process it, but not for a second does he want to take it back. Maybe this is what they need—maybe this is what will quell the nerves.

Tooru’s head tilts to the side. “Our own?”

“Yeah. Our own party. Just you and me.”

He laughs again, like he thinks Hajime is messing with him. “Really? Is that even allowed?”

Hajime stands, ignoring the creak of the swing as he does. “I don’t care if it is or not. C’mon. Let’s go.”

“My parents—"

“Know that you’re a grown-ass man. They’ll understand.”

Tooru seems to consider him for a moment, and then he smiles—

“Alright, Iwa-chan. Since you seem so insistent.”

They leave the park together, side-by-side, two shadows beneath the lamps this time. Not that Hajime is even looking at the ground—he’s gotten remarkably good, over the years, of being able to look at _him_ without tripping over his own feet. He looks at the road ahead of them, at the full, broad-leaved trees, warm breeze blowing though the branches. He looks up at the stars that are coming more heavily into focus, brighter than those he’s grown used to in Tokyo. But for the most part, he’s focusing on a familiar side profile, of thick hair curled softly around an ear.

(He’s not kidding himself into thinking Tooru doesn’t notice. Because more often than not, his side glance is met by another sly pair of eyes, and the two of them share a grin before once more looking ahead.)

It’s a long uphill trek, walking alongside the road and taking staircases when they arise. As they walk, they chat, and bicker, and do all the things they normally do—and neither of them voice the obvious, the very heavy presence that looms closer as the clock hands continue _tick tick tick-_ ing. It’s not as if it’s something unpleasant, either. Quite the opposite. But Hajime remembers the white-knuckled grip on the swing chains, and he feels his face grow pale if he focuses on it for too long. So instead he’s content to pretend like it’s just any other evening, and they’re having any old reunion after a week separated. Not that he can remember a previous time they were apart for that long, though.

They end up in a residential neighborhood on one of the highest hills in the area, a rich community of Sendai with lots of pretty trees lining the road, small communal gardens of flowering plants as they go. All of the houses are big with tall gates around the front yard, the name plates framed with a metal that looks like gold or silver, oftentimes carved to look like ivy.

They know what they’re looking for the moment they see it. It’s little more than a broadened segment of the sidewalk, the guard rail that keeps cars from careening over the side of the hill risen to a fence chest-height. They stand, wind gently buffeting their hair, and take it all in. _This_ is what he wanted to see; _this_ is what he knows, more than anything, will make their unease feel a little less oppressive.

Hajime breathes out, heavy. “One of the perks of not living out in hodunk nowhere, I guess.” 

The view is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. Something that makes him feel indescribably huge and infinitesimally small at the same time, standing above the glitter of a sprawling city. It seems to go on forever, spots twinkling in and out, gold fireflies on a midnight backdrop. The train, a glowing caterpillar screeching its way along tracks, too distant to be heard. Transformer towers flashing red; the green and yellow and red of traffic lights, the soft white of homes. Miles and miles and miles of it. So achingly quiet this far up; their own silent bubble at the edge of a universe.

Hajime turns to find Tooru staring out, unblinking, his face in a state of humbled awe. “It’s beautiful.”

Hajime nods in full agreement, catching himself decidedly _not_ thinking of the view—he turns away, hitching one foot onto the fence. “It is.”  

“This has always been one of my favorite parts.”

He breathes in, tasting the warm summer air on his tongue, sweet and more intoxicating than any drink. “Of what?”

“Living.”

They stay quiet for long minutes, just looking. The air is a near perfect temperature, just the slightest bit cooler than their skin, if not a bit damp. Distantly, the sound of cars honking, the odd dog barking in one of the neighborhood yards, the joy of a far-off laugh.

Eventually, Hajime’s other foot joins the first on the bar—he stands, hands braced against the metal, leaning slightly out over the fall. He looks down, just for the thrill of it; to see the winding paths they took up the mountain, the shadowy blur of trees. His eyes travel out, taking in the towering buildings and the dark trail in the distance that separate them, the river snaking like a smooth mirror and refracting all of the light surrounding it.

A hand automatically wraps around his arm, steadying him even though he doesn't need steadying.

Hajime looks down. “Are you still nervous?”

Tooru sighs, reluctantly letting go, instead settling his chin on his forearms and glancing up. “I wouldn’t say I’m _nervous._ Just excited. I don’t really…know how to handle it.”

Hajime nods slowly.  “You said looking at the city lights are one of your favorite parts. What are the others?”

He barely has to think about it. “Volleyball. Getting into bed after a long day. Kotatsus in winter. Italian sodas.”

“What about milk bread?”

“I didn’t include that one because it was obvious.”

Hajime huffs out a laugh. “Right.”

Tooru smiles coyly. “There was another thing I didn’t say, because it’s doubly obvious. The _most_ obvious. Since it’s my absolute favorite thing in the entire world.”

“And that would be?”

Tooru gives him a very pointed, dry look, and Hajime understands. He turns away to look back out. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Hajime, _oh._ Don’t look so stricken, it’s not making me very optimistic about tomorrow.”

“No, sorry. It’s not that. I’m just…” He can’t really articulate how he feels at the moment, but he thinks he knows what Tooru meant earlier, about being so excited and not knowing how to deal with it. It’s a strange kind of antsy, wishing time would slow down or stop, simultaneously being jittery with anticipation—that kind of childlike excitement he’d experience when he was younger, squirming in bed and seeing the concept of _tomorrow_ as this great big golden possibility.

“I get it.” A hand finds his own, thumb rubbing soothingly over his knuckles. “It’s a big deal. It’s kinda scary.”

“Yeah.” He swallows.The nerves he felt earlier—put into perspective like this, put on display before the whole world—they’re starting to feel less like like a problem and more like their own kind of wonderful. “But I’ve also never wanted something this much before.”

“So sappy.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Tooru grins, mischievous. “After tomorrow, there’s not gonna be room for any regrets, Iwa-chan. You’re gonna be stuck with me, for days and weeks and months and years. Until death do us part. Isn’t marriage a beautiful thing?”

The moon catches a glimmer, and Hajime looks down at the hand covering his own, at the golden band slipped to the base of that fourth finger—symbolic of all the love of the previous years, of all the promised years of devotion to come. His chest swells with sudden courage.  

_Tomorrow can’t come soon enough._

“When you say it like that, no.”

“Then how should I say it?”

Hajimes’s eyes flicker back up to the face he’s come to associate with the word _home._  “I’m not gonna be _stuck_ with you. We’re gonna get a house and plant a garden and get a dog. We’re gonna cook and have successful careers and get real fuckin’ old and be _happy._ And we’ll do it _together._ Say it like that.”

He steps down off his ledge and presses a kiss into a feather-soft cheek, ignoring how Tooru’s eyes have gone wet.  “Alright. I think I can do that.”

“Damn straight.”

“Always so eloquent,” Tooru whispers, affectionately.

“We’re not gettin’ hitched because I’m a poet.”

He loves— _loves, loves, loves—_ when he’s able to earn a laugh from that delightful, ornery mouth. “No, we’re _getting hitched_ because you need someone around to make you oatmeal once you’ve lost all your teeth.”

The punch he delivers is more of a tickle, digging into the firm muscle of Tooru’s stomach and making him shriek. “No, no, Iwa-chan, stop it, I’m gonna _pee—"_

His screeching is going to disturb the neighborhood, so Hajime lets up, keeping his hands at Tooru’s waist as he catches his breath. He frowns, thoughts deviating from vows and white cake and happy tears running profusely from swollen brown eyes. “I’m gonna be the grossest old man, though. If my grandpa is any indication of what I have to look forward to.”

Arms have wound around Hajime’s neck, a palm warm on either shoulder. Tooru has the same look now as when he looked out at the vastness in front of them. Again, with those eyes—

What business does Hajime have, being so helplessly adored?

“You could never be unattractive to me, Iwa-chan. We’ll be ninety and you’re going to have to beat me off with your cane.”

Funny enough, he can picture it—he can picture the endless griping about their age, the early breakfasts eaten together, the soft weathered hand somehow always finding his own. It’s a future he knows he’ll cherish dearly when it arrives, but is in no hurry to reach _._

“I’ll hold you to that, then.”

Tooru throws his head back suddenly, letting out a hoot that echoes back from the houses; is lost in the great open space ahead. Somewhere beyond them, a dog replies with an answering howl. “You sure know how to throw a killer party, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime’s mouth finds his cheek again, soft and nosing. “You feelin’ better, then?” His own stomach has settled remarkably, leaving him somewhat boneless, not at all inclined to move from this spot—not now, not ever.  

But there’s nothing that could ever keep him from that beautiful promise of tomorrow.

A returning kiss is delivered to his forehead. “You have a magic touch.”

“No cold feet?”

An enthusiastic nod, fingers waggling in Hajime’s face. “My feet are two hot potatoes!”

“Weirdo.”

Hajime catches that hand, another kiss to the calloused palm as they step away from the breathtaking sight—“C’mon, I’ll walk you home.”

(He looks at Tooru’s face, and it’s no less breathtaking.)

Their hands swing between them, taking their time on the way back down the hill. Hajime squeezes, and gets a squeeze in return. “How’s it feel, staying with your folks again?” he asks. 

Tooru hums. “It’s so weird, sleeping in that bed. I used to fall asleep at night having fantasies about how my life is _now._ It’s surreal.”

“What kind of fantasies?”

“Holding your hand. Waking up to you in the morning.” He smiles. “Being with you forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> It’s a little rushed and sloppy and far from perfect but summer is almost over and i was feeling sappy and I want to cry and I just. Needed to write this okay but i didnt want to spend a whole bunch of time on it so yeah here u go
> 
> EDIT: OH and i almost forgot to mention but at least where i'm from, when two people are on the swings and they're moving in unison, everybody says that they're now 'married'. lol i just realized thats probably not universal and not everyone will understand what the heck i was talking about sorry!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr dot com](http://ohhotlamb.tumblr.com/)


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